


Homophony

by featheredtips



Series: Y'see Them Do That Dirt [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Ace has a desk job, M/M, Marco is a gigantic flirt, Workplace AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:54:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6534235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/featheredtips/pseuds/featheredtips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ace just wants to relief stress by doing grievous injustice to a couple of pieces on the piano. Now, if Marco would just leave him the hell alone, that would be perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homophony

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have this head-canon where Ace relieves office stress by playing sloppy classical music after his clients leave/his meetings end. So, of course, Marco has to walk in on him being embarrassing and shit. Also, Marco’s got game, man. He has to. He’s, like, 12763294871-years-old or something. I regret nothing. D:
> 
> [Homophony] In music, homophony is a texture in which a primary part is supported by one or more additional strands that flesh out the harmony and often provide rhythmic contrast. OR Music written to be sung or played in unison.

There is no other way to describe it: Someone is absolutely _butchering_ sonatinas in MD Portgas’ office. Marco hadn’t even noticed that there was a piano in there during their short meeting. He shoots a look at the MD’s secretary as he approaches the adjacent waiting area and receives an innocent shrug in return.

“I believe I left my pen behind,” he explains at her polite, inquiring smile. _Koala_ , her name plate reads. “I wouldn’t trouble you, but it was a gift and it’s rather important that I not lose it.” He makes sure to look appropriately apologetic, just to get his point across. Or earn a few sympathy points, he’s not fussed either way. “I was hoping to retrieve it.”

The discordant twanging of a string of chords being massacred echoes through the walls. The feeling it leaves Marco with is— can only be called, he decides — as utterly charmed. And grossly entertained. He tries to school his expression, but Koala doesn’t seem one bit taken in by his efforts. She sighs with a knowing expression on her face before stalking out from behind her desk. Her sharp rapping on the MD’s door does nothing to quell the rising crescendo of keys being murdered.

With a huff, she breaks whatever standard protocol Marco is sure secretaries are meant to adhere to and wrenches the door open. Marco takes a leaf out of her book and sidesteps etiquette so that he can peer past her into the room.

MD Portgas is seated at a mini-grand by the window that Marco and his deteriorating eyesight had managed to mistake for a pool table earlier.

“Ace!” Koala all but hollers over the din. She looks gratified when the MD whips around, startled, and boggles at her when he notices Marco over her shoulder. Marco gives a little wave, smirking broadly. Ah, so it _had_ been him. What a delightful surprise. “You’ve got a visitor. Mr. Newgate mentioned that he’d left a pen behind earlier. I’ll leave you to it,” Koala is saying sweetly.

Marco steps around her, and the door is firmly shut against the MD’s horrified protest of “Err-!”

“Pen?” the young MD says after what Marco discerns to be a pertrified pause. He’s looking everywhere but at Marco. “Really?”

“Really,” Marco assures him, making an unnecessary show of ducking down where he’d been seated before and patting about the plush midnight-coloured carpet. His fingers graze something cool and metallic. “Pen,” he demonstrates, straightening up and waving his Mont Blanc in triumph.

Portgas is frowning at the ceiling. He’s sporting a full blown flush that has travelled up his neck and to his ears.

“So,” he clears his throat and seems to bite the bullet, meeting Marco’s amused gaze. “I know we’re totally potential business partners or whatever, but forget whatever you just heard and scram, please.”

Marco has to laugh at this because the entire situation is ridiculous and he hasn’t been this enchanted by anyone in a very long time. “Oh? Not going to try and buy my silence?”

“I would like to buy your spontaneous amnesia,” Portgas scowls, “but we can’t always have nice things.”

“You could buy me dinner instead,” Marco suggests encouragingly.

Portgas looks at him, aghast. “You’re not hitting on me. This is fraternisation or something. Are you hitting on me?”

“That depends,” Marco says evenly. “Do you want me to be?”

“I can’t believe this,” Portgas mutters. He rises from his seat, though not before taking a moment to close the lid of the piano and lovingly draw a velvet cover over the ebony woodwork. When he’s done, he skulks over to his desk and discards his blazer. Marco is promptly pleasantly distracted when the MD rolls his sleeves up to his elbows to display tanned, toned forearms. His attention doesn’t go unnoticed, so he shrugs shamelessly in the direction of Portgas’ disbelieving eyebrow raise.

“Seriously. Fraternisation,” Portgas repeats, rubbing a hand across his face, but there’s a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Marco takes that as indication to let his hand linger for a second longer than strictly socially acceptable on the small of Portgas’ back as he steers them out of the office.

“We’re doing lunch, Mr. Newgate,” Portgas says, shooting Koala a warning glance even though she’s directing her smirk at her computer screen and not at them.

“Call me Marco,” Marco insists, holding the door for them because, by this point, he’s well on his way to being smitten.

“You can call me Ace if you promise never ever to speak of what just happened in the office,” Portgas says dryly.

“Only if I can ask why,” Marco returns with another low laugh as they enter the elevator.

Ace glances off to the side with a wince. “It’s just stress relief, all right?”

“I see.” Marco hums, positively thrilled. He waits a beat before saying, airily, “I stressed you out?”

Ace groans as they hit the lobby. “I knew you’d pick up on that.”

“You’ve been paying attention, I see.”

Ace snorts, “So have you.”

“Fair enough,” Marco admits. “I know the owner of this fusion Italian restaurant three streets down who’ll give us a massive discount.”

“Fuck,” Ace says with feeling, eyes wide. “You smooth motherfucker. I might actually be tempted to date you.” This is uttered with some degree of awe.

“I try,” Marco says modestly, pleased. Ace grins at him, genuine and happy. That’s all the convincing he needs to start guiding them towards Thatch’s place even if it means that he’ll be the brunt of sibling gossip for the next year. “This way then, Ace.”


End file.
